Snowed In
by Tigerwalk
Summary: County prosecutor, Michonne Anthony, finds herself stuck in a room with her least favorite person: Deputy Rick Grimes...but it wasn't always that way.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everybody! Here is the first chapter of a short little story based off of a prompt that thematsaidwelcome gifted me with after a long bout of writer's block. I want to thank her for curing me and getting me writing again. She's amazing and if you haven't read her stuff yet, please do so asap! This is going to be 3 parts and I will update frequently because it is almost done. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing :)**

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"Shit!" Michonne felt her heart threaten to leap out of her chest when she pushed opened the door of the little, closet-sized evidence room and almost ran straight into a wall of drab khaki and brown. "What are you doing here, Grimes?" she asked, her surprise melting into annoyance when she saw his deceptively pretty blue eyes squinted above his ever-present scowl.

"I work here, Anthony. What are you doing here?"

"Funny," she sneered, "I thought I was the only one who did any real work in this building." She pushed past him and headed down the hall to the open room where all of the deputies desks sat in clusters. There had to be someone better to talk to than him. She frowned, though, when she saw all of the workstations empty and the lights dimmed, except for the one behind the main check-in. "Damn it," she muttered, glancing at her watch, and assuming she had been tucked away longer than she thought. Her brow furrowed in confusion, though, when she saw that it was only 4 p.m., much earlier than the state of the station suggested.

She heard the clicking of annoyingly loud boots on the old tile hallway, and turned to see Deputy Rick Grimes had followed her down the hall.

"What's going on?" she asked, hating to be forced to converse with him any longer than she had to. "Where is everybody? They cut out early to waste some more taxpayer-funded hours down at the bar?"

Rick chuckled, clearly amused by something other than her joke. "How long were you in that closet, Michonne?" he asked, his smile impossibly smug. "Been snowing all afternoon. All the town offices shut down."

She rolled her eyes at him; it was barely spitting before lunch, when she began sifting through the mountain of evidence for her latest case, he had to be exaggerating. She crossed the barren room to the glass doors, and peered through the "King County Sheriff's Office" insignia, to see the rare Georgia snow blanketing the ground and beginning to pile up on her Mini Cooper parked just across the way. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, doing her best to keep her exasperation from making its way to Rick's ears. This was not good.

…

Michonne could barely drive in the rain, Rick remembered, holding in a chuckle. For all her superiority and snobbishness that she brought with her from the city, she sure did have trouble navigating the old dirt roads of the rural town during the muddy season. Snow was way beyond her ability. She'd probably have to call her boyfriend to come pick her up. Of course, he was the only asshole in town who drove a fancy sports car, another high-bred lawyer to boot, and now the two of them would be like the blind leading the blind. He dropped into his desk chair and set his boots on the desk, watching her work it out and enjoying the big ball of rage sparking in her speckled brown eyes right now.

To his surprise, however, she didn't whip out her Iphone and call for help. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and wandered over to the desk farthest from him, taking a seat on top of it.

"How'd you get the short stick," she asked, surprising him again by speaking. "Don't you have seniority around here?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, the other guys got families waiting on 'em, so I volunteered." It wasn't his intention to sound so down and out about it, leaving Lori was his decision. He just wanted her to know how all alone she was in the line of people who considered him an asshole.

"So you're here all night then?"

"'Less I get a call."

After a few moments of tense silence, she did finally fish her phone from her ridiculously large purse, but she only turned it over in her hand a few times before tapping it nervously on the edge of the desk.

"Mike on his way?" he asked, suddenly finding himself willing her boyfriend's cocky mug to appear, for the first time ever. She looked like she was settling in and, given the fact that he was stuck there, he wasn't thrilled with the idea of her company lasting any longer than necessary.

"Mike's gone," she said, her eyes darting back to the window.

"Lucky him," he said. "Some swanky vacation somewhere, no doubt. How come you didn't go with him? Too busy making your own waves around here?" Michonne had a no-nonsense reputation around the county offices. It didn't sit all that well with some of the other deputies in the department. They were used to doing things their own way, but Michonne was as by the book as they come. He used to come to her defense when the other guys would complain about having to work with her, but that was back when she was still new in town, and he was still good enough to screw on the weekends, as long as none of their coworkers found out.

"No, Rick," she said. "Like gone, gone." Her plush, heart shaped lips were pursed in a frown that matched her attitude perfectly. He couldn't even remember what that thousand-watt smile he had been so taken with looked like, it had been so long since he'd seen it make an appearance. His, however, surprised him by materializing involuntarily at the thought of Mike's exit from her life. That guy was insufferable, he thought. Not that he actually cared, though, Michonne could do whatever she wanted.

…

He actually smiled, she thought. The nerve of this man never ceased to amaze her. She tells him her boyfriend left her, and his stupid mouth curls up into one of his self-satisfied, lopsided grins that she used to fall over with her legs in the air for. God, she was so stupid then. What kind of county prosecutor hasn't learned not to sleep with the local cops? It's practically on the bar exam. She shook her head in self-admonishment and turned her shoulders away from him.

"You toss him aside too?" Rick asked, masking his obvious enjoyment of her misfortune beneath his hand as he scratched at the stubble on his face. "I was wondering when that whole 'can't mix business and pleasure' rule was gonna kick in for him. Took us what? Six good months before you pulled that one?"

"I wouldn't call them good months," she retorted, sweeping a piece of hair away from her face, and tucking it behind her ear. His smirk grew bolder, and she quickly dropped her hands back to her lap.

Rick had pointed out that tell to her a long time ago, when she had the misfortune of working her first case with him. She hated to admit it, but it had actually been a valuable piece of information to have in court, despite its source. He had a detective's eye and he'd called her out on it after a particularly late night, when she'd made up some excuse to slip out of his bed and head home. He'd driven the point home by listing off each of the half-truths she'd used on a witness earlier that day, and how she'd made the same gesture each time. She'd been both impressed at his attention to detail, and annoyed at the way he found it so amusing. Not annoyed enough to leave though; the first of many nights she made that mistake.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. "That's actually none of your business. Regardless of the reason, he's not around, so I'm going to have to wait it out. I'm sure there will be a break in the storm at some point and I'll be fine."

…

Goddamnit. For a brilliant woman, she really was clueless sometimes. Even if there was a break in the storm, the town's one snow plow, the maintenance manager's personal vehicle, wasn't going to even begin clearing roads until the next day. They'd already cancelled school in anticipation of a twenty-four hour clean up.

"Michonne, you live on the other side of town," he said. "You're not getting there in that stupid car of yours until they plow the backroads."

"Well, what do you suggest, Rick?" she asked in a sing-song tone. She was doing that thing where she made her voice sweet and accommodating, and batted her thick eyelashes, all the while calling into question your intelligence with her gaze. He sighed heavily, sliding his feet off of the desk and standing to take his own gander at the situation. The trees that lined the parking lot were practically bent in half and encased in ice, and Michonne's red car had now turned completely white. Not a single car passed on the street in front of the station. He dropped his forehead into his palm and set his other hand on his hip. The Sheriff's department wasn't big enough to house him and Michonne for the entire night if both of them wanted to make it out alive. He was going to have to come up with a plan to get her home.

…

I'm never getting home, she thought. She flipped through her phone contacts for the hundredth time, trying to think of anyone who both owned a four wheel drive vehicle, and owed her a favor. The first list was pretty long, but the second was lacking.

Rick was pacing in front of the door, as if he could somehow will mother nature to free them from this cruel joke she was playing on them.

"Can you just sit down?" she asked. "You're making me nervous." To be honest, the way his left knee turned out just enough to give him that sexy, bow-legged, cowboy strut was distracting her thought process, but she wasn't about to admit that. And of course he would be wearing those damn worn out black jeans that hung low on his hips with the weight of his gun belt, and hugged his muscular thighs. Where were his brown, polyester uniform pants? Those were much easier to ignore.

"Why are you only half in uniform, Deputy?" she asked, making sure to remind him with her tone that technically, in the county employee hierarchy, she out-ranked him. It was really only when they were working a case together, which they were not currently, but so what?

"Overnight dress code," he said, his eyes still on the parking lot. "Surprised you noticed. You staring at my ass again?"

Michonne didn't hold back her irritation this time, jumping down from the desk and stalking over to where he stood. "Look," she said, her mind grasping for any solution to this unbearable circumstance. "You've got the keys to the county SUV. Why don't you just bring me home? It's not exactly a road trip to look forward to, but it will be better than the two of us being stuck here all night."

Rick took a step back and met her challenging posture with his own, setting both hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. She had kicked her heels off while she was sitting and now, looking up at him, she was reminded of how she always felt like her whole frame shrunk whenever she was in his powerful presence. She licked her lips subconsciously and her eyes darted for the refuge of a different focal point.

"First of all," he said, tilting his head to the side and staring down at her. "Dixon took the SUV home with him. I only have the regular cruiser. And second of all, I'm the only one on duty. I can't leave unless it's an emergency, and your failure to think ahead doesn't really constitute that. You know...rules are rules, right Michonne?"

…

He wasn't sure why he hadn't just agreed to her plan. His need to get a dig in at her over her rigid, stick-in-the-mud attitude had temporarily out-weighed the need to get her out of his hair, but now he was stuck trying to come up with a plan B.

"I'll make a couple calls," he said, turning on his heel and heading for the check-in desk where the county contact list would be. Maybe he could find someone who was willing to help him out of a bind.

…

"Come on, Andrea...pick up!" Michonne muttered under her breath as her friend's phone went to voicemail yet again. She had her back turned to the reception area where Rick was alternating between dialing and slamming down the desk phone in his own futile attempt at reaching another human being. She sighed aloud, hanging up the call and setting her phone back in her purse to save the battery.

After a few moments, she heard the squeaky hinges of the swinging half-door to the reception area, as Rick came wandering back into the room.

"I left a message for Dixon, the town maintenance manager, and Abe Ford at the fire department. Maybe one of them will call me back."

"Fine," she said. "Thank you."

He nodded, almost pleasantly, and she felt the tension brewing in her temples release. She was exhausted by the situation and she didn't need to spend any more energy hurling insults at Rick Grimes. The station was big enough that she would just avoid him for as long as she needed to until someone offered to help them out.

Having exhausted all of their options, they silently retreated to their respective corners, content to pass the time separately.

Michonne decided to chance the battery drain on her phone, and began scrolling through a few emails, catching up on what she had missed while she was hidden away in the evidence room. It was after six now, and she was kicking herself for deciding she only needed a salad for lunch. If she had known she wasn't going to get to devour the Chinese food leftovers she had in her fridge for dinner, she would have had something that lasted a little longer. She slipped off her blazer, tossing it on the chair next to her shoes, and began rifling through her purse for a power bar or even a mint to tide her over.

…

Rick had almost forgotten she was there, his nose buried in a stack of case files he had to sign off on, until he heard her teeth crunching and cracking a hard candy from across the room. He set down the paperwork he was studying and ran a hand over his face, before turning in her direction.

"You're not supposed to chew those," he said, admonishingly. "You'd think with your dental hygiene obsession, you'd know that."

"Better than an obsession with baseball and barbeque. At least my obsession makes me healthier."

"When you break a tooth don't come crying to me."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

Rick scraped his chair out from his desk and looked down at his wristwatch. It was getting late, and she was getting fidgety in that way she did when she was hungry. He remembered how a hungry Michonne was an even more unpleasant Michonne, and he figured it was probably best for both of them if he got her something to eat.

"We have some food in the breakroom," he said, stretching his back as he stood from his chair. The low pressure of the storm and the worn out desk chair he had been sitting in had his muscles stiff and aching. He ran his hand over the old bullet wound on his chest as he stood, and he saw her watching him out of the corner of his eye. Finally she stopped staring and stood to make her way across the room, following him to the little kitchenette at the other end of the station.

He opened the refrigerator, not quite sure what would be on the menu for the night, but he quickly spotted something he knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

"It was Leon's birthday yesterday," he said, reaching in and pulling out a large, plastic container. "Got half a chocolate cake left over."

Michonne's eyes went wide and her lips twitched into an eager smile before she caught herself. He saw it though, and he couldn't help but laugh. She had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone he'd ever met and he'd be damned if he could figure out where any of it went. Maybe it all went to her ass, he mused, as he set the cake on the counter and rummaged around for some plates. The rest of her body was firm and smooth, but her ass was as plump and round as they come. He couldn't help the vision that popped into his head of it naked and perched high up in the air as he took her from behind. He quickly handed her a plate, then turned back toward the fridge to hide the heat that was creeping up his neck at the explicit memory.

"Ain't much else in here," he said from behind the door. He pulled out a can of Crazy Cheese and dug up some crackers from the cupboard, setting them on the counter next to the cake to complete the saddest buffet ever offered.

"This is fine," she said. She cut a slice of cake and placed it on a plate, offering it to him, but he shook his head, opting to dive into it with his fork instead.

…

Rick was shoveling cake into his mouth, as she eyed him over her plate. He always ate like a starving man, she thought. He was sitting on the counter, where food was to be prepared, scooping bites of frosting and sucking them off of the end of his fork. She shook her head at his lack of table manners as he broke off another bite, his tongue darting out from between his pouty, pink lips to meet the creamy chocolate, and a sudden shock wave darted straight downward from her belly at the familiar sight. That tongue, those lips, her leg slung over his shoulder as he wore that same indulgent expression...she finished her last bite, quickly turning away to drop her plate in the sink.

"So," she said, desperate to hear him say something smug and annoying to get her brain and her body back on the same page. "How's Shane?"

Rick's partner had always been a wedge between them, his name was sure to make her forget the selective memories threatening to paint a less than accurate picture of Rick in her mind.

"He's fine," Rick replied, snarkily. "Thanks for asking."

"He still the town's biggest busybody?"

Rick parted his lips to spit out a retort when they both heard the shrill bell of the desk phone echoing off of the empty desks in the next room. She watched him jump down from the counter and take off in a near sprint to answer it.

Eager to hear from someone who Rick had left a message for regarding a lift home, she ran some water on her plate and hurried off to follow him.

…

"Don't be an asshole," Rick said to the bellowing laughter of Captain Abraham Ford of the King County Fire Department.

"Hey now," Abe said, "You know I'd help you out if I could."

"I don't know that, cause it seems like you could right now, and you won't."

"I'm just saying maybe it'll do y'all some good to spend the evening talkin'...or whatever."

He chuckled again and Rick felt his eyebrow begin to twitch with anger. Of all the good friends he had, Abe had to be the only one to call him back. "So you're refusing?" he growled into the phone.

"It's for your own good, buddy. It's a small town and frankly we're all tired of this feud between the two of you. I hope you have a _productive_ night."

With one more burst of laughter, Abe hung up on him just as Rick heard Michonne approach.

"Ford said he can't make it over to give you a lift," Rick said. He watched the hopefulness that had seeped into her expression fade away and a frown overtake her face. Clearly she had as little interest in talking things out as he did. Better to just keep their distance for the remainder of their sentence, he supposed, turning his back to her to find something else to occupy the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful response to this story. Your reviews, as usual, are giving me life. Here's chapter 2.**

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The daylight had long since faded away, and the station had taken on an eerie quiet as the evening settled in around them. The room was lit only by the reception area and, despite maintaining their distance with silence, they both played out their respective boredom within the small area where the lamp light reached.

Rick had perched himself on the check in counter, swinging his feet above the floor as he flipped through the latest sports news on his phone. Michonne, explaining she wanted to make sure she had a full battery on her phone for the chance to drive home that she was still clinging to, was perusing a week-old newspaper she had found on the desk, and rolling herself in the desk chair, back and forth across the tiny carpeted space.

The sound of tree branches cracking and groaning under the weight of the ice that was growing thicker by the hour provided an occasional interruption to the complete silence that had overtaken them. The wind had picked up as well, gusting like a freight train into the double glass doors, causing them to shake and shudder in the jamb.

Rick stopped his absent-minded scrolling and strode over to them, sliding down a large bolt from the top of the frame and locking them in place. Then he made his way over to the thermostat to adjust for the dropping temperature in the old building. He had just unlocked the little plastic box that housed it, when all of a sudden there was a loud whoosh sound, as the life drained out of the HVAC system, and the little lamp that had been keeping them company flickered, and sputtered, and gave up the ghost.

"You've got to be kidding me," Michonne said, from her spot curled up in the rolling desk chair. He turned in her direction and watched her stretch out her legs in front of her before reaching for the light and flicking the switch on and off just to be sure. "We're going to freeze."

"Don't be dramatic," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if just the idea had dropped the temperature already.

"They can't expect you to stay here all night with no power. Just drive me home and let's be done with this."

Rick glanced again at the storm raging outside, then back at the dark desk. "The phone still work?" he asked. He waited as she lifted the receiver and held it to her ear, nodding in affirmation. "I gotta stay then. I'm the only one on duty and with the power going out, who knows what could pop up. 'Sides, if we were gonna chance it, that moment has passed." He pointed to the view of the parking lot, barely visible now that the outdoor lights had gone out. The snow had drifted, scooped up by the strong fingers of the wind and dropped back down in little banks accumulating in front of the doors and windows. There was no cavalry coming, he realized. They were settling in for a long night.

…

It was going to be an excruciatingly long night, Michonne realized. She nearly groaned at the realization that all hope had been lost and it was time to just accept her fate and find some quiet corner to curl up in and go to sleep. She'd spent plenty of nights in Rick's proximity, she surely wouldn't die from one more. He might though, she thought, watching him tap his finger tips on the butt of his gun as he continued to pace. She tossed him her best unimpressed look and walked back over to the desk where she had left her shoes and blazer. She grabbed her jacket, hooking her heels on her fingers and her purse over her shoulder.

"So where are we sleeping?" she asked.

Rick raised an eyebrow at her and she felt a warm flush fill her cheeks.

"I mean where am I sleeping? And where are you sleeping? Separately."

Rick did a sweep of the room with his eyes, his brow furrowing, and it occurred to her he hadn't thought that through yet.

"I'll just take the floor over there," she sighed. She gestured with her chin to a corner of the room behind Deputy Espinosa's desk. It somehow felt more appropriate taking up behind one of the female officer's desks.

"We have sleeping bags, actually," he said from behind her as she turned to walk away. She looked over her shoulder at him, urging him on with her eyes. For a brief moment she thought maybe he was just taunting her, and he was planning on letting her sleep on the hard floor with the knowledge of some hidden comfort stowed away somewhere in the building. The thought quickly fled, though. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't cruel, and even in his bullheadedness he would find it hard not to be chivalrous.

She had always found that to be an interesting quirk of his. The night she'd broken it off between them, when they had had an all out screaming match in the middle of his living room, he had still followed her out to her car and held the door open for her while she cussed him out. She thought about that moment a lot.

"Give me a minute," he said, taking off down the hallway to the annex that housed the locker rooms and storage areas.

…

He should let her sleep on the cold floor and shiver all night, he thought, as he dragged a step ladder out of a closet and used it to reach the very top shelf in the station's gun cage. They had emergency gear stashed up there that hadn't been touched in years. None of the guys thought it was worth keeping in the trunk of their car, since there wasn't a one of them that could remember having an occasion to use it, so it sat collecting dust with the extra trash bags and paper towels that stocked the break room. There were blankets, and flashlights, and a couple of sub-zero rated sleeping bags that he had always wondered how a police department in Georgia had acquired. He stuffed a bunch of supplies under his arms, kicking the ladder away and closing the door with his foot, before heading to the lockers.

He set the stuff down on the floor and crossed the room to the locker with his name on it, pulling out a gym bag he kept on site. He unzipped it and pulled out a King County Sheriff's Department sweatshirt and an old Atlanta Braves t-shirt. Tossing the new additions on the pile, he crossed to the cubbies in the shower area of the room, gathering as many towels as he could carry. Loading his arms up with all of his provisions, he headed back to Michonne.

When he returned, she had her blazer laid out over her bare knees as she sat in Rosita's chair, rubbing her hands over her arms.

"Here," he said, tossing her the sweatshirt. He didn't wait to see if she caught it, instead he began stacking the folded towels into two piles, leaving the last two to wrap around them, forming a sort of makeshift, scratchy as hell, pillow case. Then he grabbed his t-shirt and wrapped it around the one he made for her. He remembered the silk pillowcases she had on her bed for her hair, and he figured the rough terry cloth wouldn't do at all. The soft cotton had to be a little better.

When he turned back around, she had removed her blouse, which was now laying across Rosita's desk, and pulled his sweatshirt over a cotton camisole that he could see peeking out from underneath. It was two sizes too big for her, and paired with a dark grey pencil skirt it looked absolutely ridiculous, but also somehow incredibly sexy. Memories of her slipping into one of his t-shirts for a late night bathroom trip began to play in his head, along with the recollection of the round two that those moments usually led to.

"Thank you," she said, interrupting his thoughts as she came over to select a sleeping bag and blanket, as well as one of the flashlights he had added to the pile.

"You're welcome. Here." He handed her the pillow he had fashioned, and her eyes darted between it and the one he had made for himself, before a shy smile ghosted across her lips as she turned away.

He watched her spread the sleeping bag out on the floor and cover it with the red and yellow, plaid safety blanket he had found. When she had settled in, curled on her left side the way she always slept, he retreated to the reception area and got to work making his own sleeping area on the floor behind the desk where the station phone was.

…

It was only 8:30pm, far earlier than her usual time to turn in, and Michonne had had three cups of coffee that afternoon. She lay there, tossing and turning, but at the very least warm, thanks to Rick's sweatshirt. She appreciated the gesture, but as cozy as it was, it smelled like him and it was causing her mind to wander. They hadn't been alone together since that fight, months ago, and knowing he was just across the dark room, probably sleeping flat on his back with his arm slung across his eyes, since the slightest bit of ambient light could keep him awake, had a whole slew of memories dancing in her head. She had always enjoyed watching him sleep, usually from underneath his firm embrace, as she rested on his chest- his hard, toned, chest. Besides the way his naked form begged to be fully inspected when she was in such close proximity, she also found the peaceful look on his face while he slept to be such a contrast from his usual intensity that it enchanted her. Of course spending the night with him, actually getting to the sleeping part, was where it all went wrong.

She pulled the blanket up around her neck and clenched her eyes shut, begging for sleep to pluck her from her misery and plop her into the morning when she could make her escape, but it was no use. She kicked it off again and shivered at the cold burst of air on her bare legs. Grabbing the flashlight he had given her, she straightened her skirt and stepped onto the cold tile, intending to make her way to the bathroom to empty her bladder. When she stood up from behind the desk, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she spotted Rick still awake, silhouetted in the dim light, staring out the window. He turned at the sound of her gasp and she could just make out his curious expression in the moonlight that was shining in.

"I have to pee," she announced, heading in the direction of the public, unisex toilet outside of the interrogation room that she usually tried her best to avoid when she had to be there.

Rick flicked on his own flashlight, that he'd been flipping around in his hand, and moved to follow her. She stopped short, looking him up and down and inquiring with her eyes as to what exactly he thought he was doing.

"I don't need help, thanks," she said smartly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Be nice," he said. "I'll take you to the one out back. It's a lot cleaner."

She contemplated turning down his offer on principle, before she remembered all of the suspects in handcuffs she had seen utilize the facilities she was headed to, and she nodded her head.

She followed Rick down a set of winding hallways she had never ventured down before, until they got to a locker room labeled "Ladies" and she let out a relieved breath. Knowing there were only two female cops in all of King County, she was at least ensured a clean bathroom for the night.

Rick held the door open for her and she offered him a sincere smile in thanks, as she pushed past him into the locker room.

…

"Shit," Rick muttered under his breath, his stomach sinking like a stone. He leaned against the wall, tossing the picture of her pretty smile around in his head while he waited for her to finish.

The truth was this was exactly what he had been fearing when he thought of having to spend the entire night in Michonne's presence. It wasn't the arguing or the general displeasure that was always written all over her face whenever she was in his company. It was the possibility that she would do something to make him forget his newfound hatred and remind him of when he used to be able to make her smile and giggle and other stuff...like call out his name while she surrendered herself to his affections. He had to remind himself that it was all a show, though. Based on the way she reacted when word got out about their little weekend thing, none of that was ever really just for him.

She emerged from the dark locker room a few moments later, and he took off down the hall, silently, while she hurried to stay in the lighted path he was making with his flashlight. When they got back to the big open room, instead of slinking off to the corner she had made for herself, far away from where he was, she followed him through the swinging half-door and into the square area behind the reception desk where he had laid out his own sleeping bag.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked abruptly.

The question surprised him and he swung around to look her in the eye, scoffing out loud. He tried to remember a time when he hadn't been nice to her, and came up short. Except maybe earlier that evening when he had called her car stupid, or smiled at the thought of her relationship with Mike fizzling out, other than that though, he was a saint compared to her. It was Michonne who had ended what they had going on. All he had done was do his best to accept it. Accepting it for him required avoiding her like the plague, and being ready and willing to trade a few petty insults when they were forced to be together, but in all fairness, she had been the one to put this deep freeze over all of their interactions.

"I'm actually a nice guy," he reminded her, dropping into the rolling desk chair and crossing his arms. "You used to enjoy my company."

"Maybe I still would if you hadn't gone bragging to Shane about your little conquest from the county attorney's office."

"This again?" he spat. "You know damn well he figured it out when he stopped by my house that morning and saw you getting in your car."

Michonne stepped closer to him and drove her finger into his chest, her eyes narrowing. "For all he knew it could have been a one time thing, but somehow he found out we'd been sleeping together for months, and so did everyone else. Do you know how that makes me look, Rick?"

"Like a human being? Sorry I blew your cover. Besides how do you think it made me look when you went out of your way to deny it meant anything? Good enough to sleep with, but God forbid anybody get the wrong idea and think I'd be the type of guy you'd be involved with."

"It wasn't like that," she snapped. "We work together. It wouldn't be appropriate to-"

"To what? See each other with our clothes on?"

Michonne pulled her hand back from him and used it to massage her temple, her eyes closing in frustration. "Rick," she said, through clenched teeth.

"I wasn't bragging to Shane, alright?" Rick stood from the chair, forcing her to take a step backward, and she put her hands out to steady herself on the long reception desk behind her. "I know it was stupid.," he said. "Looking back, he was the last person I should have been talkin' to about it, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't tell him so I could boast about getting you into bed. I told him because I was looking for advice. I wanted more than just hooking up on the weekends, Michonne. I'd been out of the dating game for a long time, I thought maybe Shane...maybe he could tell me how to make something outta what we were doing."

Michonne's tight expression loosened, changing to something else altogether. She looked stunned, her eyes widened and her lips parted, as if his confession threatened to knock her off her feet. He blew out a short huff through his nose. Was he supposed to believe she had no idea he was in love with her? No clue that he wasn't asking her to stay the night with him because he liked sneaking out of her condo before her neighbor, who worked at the courthouse, caught sight of him. She'd have to be a fool to miss the way he looked at her when she laughed, or how he started texting her in the middle of the week to see how her day was, even though they'd been standing next to each other a few hours prior, pretending to barely be acquainted. Michonne was not a fool.

"Rick...I…" She dropped her eyes to the floor, but even in the indirect light of the flashlight he had set on the desk, he could see them begin to glisten.

"Don't, Michonne," he said, moving away from her, but he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist before he could escape her pity.

"You had just gotten a divorce," she said. "I just assumed I was the rebound."

"I told you how that all went down with Lori," he said. "The mourning period had been over for awhile."

She nodded and released him, but he didn't move. There was something flickering in her expression that he couldn't quite identify. Sadness? Regret? The need for him to explain it?

"Look," he continued, praying he was reading the situation right for once, "it started out as just sex. That first night, neither of us expected it, but after the months kept going by, and it became a regular thing, I just...I started missing you on the weekends when we didn't end up together, started wishing the nights could start earlier, that I could touch you when we were all standing around in the same crowd at happy hour, instead of having to wait until no one was looking."

"You never said anything…"

"I know," he said. "I've never been good at saying the right thing. That's why I was talking to Shane in the first place. But, I've also never known you not to get what you want, Michonne. I figured if you wanted more, I would have known. When Shane caught us, I hoped you would want to just drop the whole charade, but you were so pissed that your secret was out. I got the hint. I just wanted a shot at convincing you to give me a chance."

Rick started to fidget as the moments ticked by without a response. Her eyes were darting around his face, studying him while they re-hashed the entire sordid end to their short-lived affair.

"I would have," she said finally. "-Given you a chance."

Her voice was small. None of the disdain that usually coated her words was present, and he could feel his restraint waning. She was so close, and it had been so long since he had touched her silky smooth skin, or smelled her spicy perfume. If Abe and the rest of their mutual friends thought they were tired of this feud, he was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

Michonne didn't move, seemingly frozen in the moment that had just overtaken them, and he stepped closer. He knew he was taking a chance touching her in this dark room with half the night left to go. She was liable to pop him in the jaw, or worse, break his heart again, but something told him she wouldn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all for your enthusiastic and hilarious responses to this story. This has been so much fun to write. Thanks again to thematsaidwelcome for the prompt. Here is the final chapter :)**

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Rick's hands were on her before she had a chance to see it coming, grasping her by her hips and pulling her in. He leaned in closer, obviously propelled by the fact that she hadn't decked him, and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest, pumping a warm flood of familiarity through her veins. His scent, the way his lips parted just slightly when he was thinking, the way he invaded all of her senses at once; she remembered it all.

"We still can," he said. "Give this a chance." His mouth was dangerously close to her ear and all of the pent up anger that existed between them ignited like gasoline on a flame.

She felt herself reach for him, clutching the fabric of his shirt and pulling him toward her mouth, and he wasted no time accepting the invitation. His lips covered hers in a series of short pecks and long, drawn out kisses that stole her breath straight from her lungs. He kissed her with all of the intensity that she remembered, but this time she felt something else, a tenderness that she had been oblivious to before- when she was sure she had him pegged. His expression was both lustful and longing and she was swept up into it like the powdery snow being tossed around on the wind outside. She rushed to undo the buttons on his uniform shirt, while he worked his way down her neck, leaving a trail of warm and wet on her skin that made her shiver.

When she had pushed his top shirt off of his shoulders, he used the hold he had on her waist to lift her onto the desk behind her.

"No one's coming, right?" she whispered, her hands finding his hair and holding on tight enough that there would be no question as to what she wanted.

"No one's coming." He pushed the tight skirt she was wearing up her thighs, setting her legs free to open for him, then stepped between them, closing the remaining distance between their bodies. His fingers traveled around to find the zipper at the back, loosening it enough to fit his hands inside. "I've missed this," he muttered against her cheek, while his hands kneaded the flesh of her bottom. "It's been torture watching you with Mike, knowing you should be mine."

"I've missed this too." It was an understatement. Her heart and body had been aching for him since the minute she'd told him goodbye, even throughout whatever she was doing with Mike; passing the time she supposed. She'd told herself she hated Rick, but the line between hate and love is thin, and it had all but disappeared now that she was pressed against him like this again. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "for the things I said." His tongue on her neck was making it hard to focus, but she needed to say it. "Rick...wait."

He pulled away, his lips swollen and his hair mussed. Her belly fluttered at the sight, and all that she knew was to come.

"It wasn't you," she said. "I was trying to protect myself. I didn't know how you felt."

"I'm sorry too," he said. "I should have told you instead of Shane." He tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt he had lent her and pulled it up over her head, tossing it onto the floor. "Or done a better job at showing you." Rick dropped his mouth to her chest, kissing around the thin cotton tank top that remained between them, and pulling it down just enough to expose her lacy bra.

Her fingers found his hair again, gently leading him lower. She was done holding back; fate or something like it had put them together and she wasn't going to deny herself anymore. Rick had started out as a guilty pleasure- the best sex of her life that came with every string imaginable. A recently divorced cop with a group of playboy friends, all of whom she also happened to work with. It was a mess on paper, but just like he'd confessed had happened to him, the line began to blur. He'd convince her to stay the night, and she'd find herself watching him sleep. He'd follow her lead and keep her at arm's length at work, but all the while she'd be watching him strut around in his uniform, wishing she could find a dark corner or closet and remove it slowly and get him back inside of her. She found herself worrying about him when she knew he was on patrol, or heard about a case he'd worked that had put him in danger. Rick was a sight to see with his shirt off, but eventually, her eyes began to drift frequently to the scar on his chest, reminding her that not only was this man full of baggage, but becoming involved with him meant caring for someone who had a dangerous job. It was all too much when she added it up, and she had let herself settle into the belief that they were both better off with things as they were. She wasn't sure how she was going to navigate this now that she knew what it meant, but she knew where she wanted to start.

"Show me now," she said, increasing the pressure on the top of his head. He looked up at her with that same look that had burst into her mind unexpectedly earlier in the evening, daring her to banish it, but this time she reveled in it.

…

Rick did not need to be told twice, dropping to his knees and pulling her hips to the edge of the desk in one swift motion. Being invited back to this place, with everything on the table, nothing hidden between them? This was something he had spent a lot of time fantasizing about and he was going to savor every drop. He slipped his shoulder under her knee, pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh, and readied himself to remind her exactly why she kept coming back in the first place.

…

How did she ever leave this? she thought, as Rick danced around her with his tongue, bringing back a flood of good memories that shoved aside the few bad ones that she had been clinging to. He had her trapped in place, as if demanding an answer to that very question and her legs were shaking as she tried desperately not to suffocate him with her enthusiasm. She was going to have to send an anonymous bouquet of flowers to Jessie the receptionist, she thought, when she accidentally knocked over a cup full of pens and pencils, spilling them all over her desk in a blind attempt to hold on to something.

…

Michonne's eyes were clenched shut when he finally stood to look at her. She was leaned back against the partition window looking as though she'd forgotten every insult ever hurled at him and he couldn't help but smile.

"This is why you're so cocky," she said through her own grin. He was glad she still hadn't found the strength to look at him because he was sure his expression would surely have proved her point. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing her in this state and, knowing her reputation as a tough-as-nails prosecutor who always had her shit together, he couldn't help but be proud of himself for putting that bewildered look on her face. Cockiness aside though, being back with Michonne was something he had made himself accept was never going to happen, and his excitement at being wrong refused to hide from his face.

"We both know it's more than just that," he said, stepping toward her. He ripped his t-shirt over his head and descended on her again, settling his face in the crook of her neck in a way he knew was sure to rouse her for the rest of what he had planned. Michonne sat up, wrapping her legs around his waist, just as he'd intended, and she reached between them, tugging on his belt. He was already pressing against the inside of his jeans, and her fingers in such close proximity to the bulge in his pants had him threatening to burst through the zipper.

When she released him and took him in her hand, he felt his forehead break out into a light sweat, despite the chilly air. He bucked against her palm like a teenager, unable to control himself and bit down on her shoulder to keep from crying out.

"I need to be inside you," he said, after soothing his teeth marks with wet, frantic kisses. "We can figure the rest out later."

She nodded, releasing him to lean back on her elbows. The sight of her spilling out of the bra he had left in disarray, her lower lip tucked between her teeth, cut through any remaining self control he had. She was going to let him have her right there, and he was going to take her, forgetting all about the bed he'd laid out just a few feet away. He pushed his pants down his hips, only as far as he needed to, then hooked his arm under her thigh, holding her in place as he pushed into her waiting warmth.

Michonne let out a cry that served as the sweetest welcome home he'd ever heard, and he arched his back to get closer to her, his tongue reaching for her skin. He grabbed for her hand, lacing their fingers, and in doing so he accidentally knocked over a stack of manilla folders beside her. He watched helplessly out of the corner of his eye as they slid onto the floor, spilling their contents onto the floor. Jessie was gonna be pissed, he thought briefly, but he'd come up with a story later. Right now he was focused on getting as deep as he could into Michonne's familiar walls.

…

Michonne heard picture frames toppling over and knick knacks jostle across the counter every time Rick thrust into her, but she was too occupied to care. His face was buried in her cleavage and she was clutching his hair so tightly, she was sure she was hurting him. He was hitting just the right spot, proving his exceptional memory when it came to her body, and though she knew exactly what was coming, she was still practically knocked over by the wave of pleasure that overtook her. If Rick wasn't holding her up, she might have just melted right onto the floor. She released his hair, her hands falling to his shoulders and her nails digging into him as she shook. She barely had time to descend when she felt him follow her, collapsing forward with a few very ungentlemanlike curse words.

"Fuck...I love you, Michonne," he growled as his hips continued to pump into her, despite being spent.

Her head was still dizzy, but she heard him clearly and the words kept her heart pounding in her chest long after the physical effects of their tryst had dialed down. He held her tight around her waist, propping them up with one hand as he panted into her neck. He was making no apologies or excuses for what he'd just confessed, just resting comfortably in her embrace.

…

She didn't reply, but Rick didn't care. He should have said it a long time ago, and so he just let himself enjoy being back in her arms. They could start from scratch, or from wherever it was this left them, tomorrow. She'd promised to give it a chance and this time he was going to do whatever it took to keep her.

He could feel her bare skin begin to pebble as he ran his fingers up and down her leg, and he was reminded that he'd left her with very little clothes on in this very cold room. Pulling away carefully, still sensitive and his legs just a little wobbly, he pulled his pants up over his hips and tucked himself back into his boxer briefs. He wrapped his arms around her, stealing one more kiss as he helped her down from the desk, then gathered his sweatshirt from the floor.

He watched her straighten her bra and tank, then pull the sweatshirt on. Her skirt was a wrinkled mess as she tried to smooth it down with her palms and twist it around her hips until it was straight. She stepped toward him and turned around for his help with the zipper.

He did as she asked, then pulled her against him, caressing her hip and speaking into her ear. "I might be able to find some shorts out back for you to sleep in," he said. "I woulda looked for some before, but I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

She laughed sweetly and tipped her head back against his shoulder. "Have I earned them now?" she asked, covering his hand with hers and squeezing his fingers.

"I think you have."

"Good. Take me with you so I can use the bathroom."

…

After a trip to the locker rooms, where Rick had indeed found her a pair of gym shorts that he promised belonged to neither Dixon, nor Shane, and after combining their sleeping areas into one behind the reception desk, Michonne felt herself drifting off, cocooned in the warmth of the fleece blanket and Rick's arms. He was snoring lightly, his chin tucked onto the top of her head, and her mind flooded with all of the times they had fallen asleep like this before. Sated and comfortable; happy. She thought back to how those moments had crumbled into the sheer acrimony that had existed between them just a few hours ago. If she was honest with herself, she knew that feeling any which way about a man so strongly meant more than what she had been willing to admit. Being with Mike was meant to erase Rick from her mind, but her anger only grew at him, despite having no recurring catalyst. She contemplated what that meant, as his words sang in her ear. He said he loved her, and she supposed if she didn't hate him anymore then the only thing left strong enough to maintain this passionate energy between them was love. Somehow she'd fallen in love with him and now not only had she not said it back, but she still hadn't done much to prove to him that being with him was never something she would have been ashamed of. He'd said they would figure it out later, but as far as she was concerned, they'd wasted enough time. She wouldn't let another day go by without letting him know she felt the same.

…

The ice coating the outdoors had tripled the strength of the morning sun, catching it and bouncing it full force off of every angle it found. The double glass doors did nothing to shield them, and neither did the dusty, broken mini-blinds hanging in the small rectangle window of the reception area.

Michonne woke slowly, her eyes fluttering against the glare, before opening all the way. She stretched her arms above her head like a cat, and she felt Rick's arm tighten around her waist, trapping her against him, then loosen again as he began to stir awake.

"Good morning," she said, when his eyes finally opened. Instead of answering, he pulled her on top of him in one swift motion, and lifted his head off of the pillow to kiss her.

"Hi," he finally said, his hands creeping down her back to settle on her behind.

"Hi."

"Is the power back on?" He glanced around the room looking for something electronic to answer his question, but Michonne shook her head. She remembered leaving the lamp on purposely so that they would be alerted if it came back. "Better stay under here a little longer then," he said. "Keep warm."

His hands were on the move again, and she would have loved to find out their destination, but she knew they didn't have the same luxury as the quiet night had afforded them. "I have to use the ladies room," she said. "And we should really clean up the desk."

They both looked over her shoulder at the mess they had made, and Rick groaned. "Alright," he agreed. "You remember where it is? You want me to walk you?"

"No, I can make it," she smiled. She reluctantly pulled herself away from his warm arms and slipped out of the sleeping bag, dancing a little on her toes at the icy cold air and her full bladder. "I'll be right back."

His grin was so content and happy, that she couldn't help leaning in to kiss it one more time before hurrying off down the hall.

…

Rick watched Michonne stop at her purse for the toothbrush she always kept there, and he smiled at her scout-like preparedness, thanking fate that it had failed her just one time and left her stranded here with him. When she was out of sight, he crawled on his knees over to the desk and began gathering the files that had fallen onto the floor, stacking them neatly and trying his best to organize them the way he thought they should go. He had moved on to the pens and pencils, when he heard a whiney siren sounding off in the parking lot, followed by the flicker of red and white lights strobing in through the windows. He glanced in the direction Michonne had taken off in, then quickly searched for his jeans on the floor, barely getting them zipped before he heard the double click of the lock on the side entrance, followed by jingling keys and laughter.

"Honey, I'm home!" he heard his partner's voice call, just before he emerged from around the corner with Abe in tow.

Rick looked at his watch. It was barely 6 a.m., he wasn't expecting to be relieved of his shift for another hour. "You're early," he said, taking a moment to clear his throat when he heard how guilty he sounded. "I mean, how're the roads?"

"Roads are shit, but duty calls, right?" Daryl scanned the room while Abe stayed strangely quiet, his barrel chest vibrating with the laughter he was holding in.

"Aren't you supposed to be next door?" Rick asked him.

"I got a little time to kill," Abe answered. "Figured I'd come check on you first. Musta got pretty cold in here with the heat off..."

"Where's Anthony?" Daryl asked, taking a sip of the coffee he was holding. "You didn't lock her in a closet somewhere, did ya?"

"Course not," Rick said, careful not to give anything away. He wasn't going to make that mistake twice. "She's in the bathroom."

Daryl grunted a response, moving to set his things down on his own desk.

"Rick, the county offices are still closed," Michonne called to him from the hall. "Looks like I get another day off." She rounded the corner with her cellphone in hand, stopping short at the sight of their new arrivals. "Hi, guys."

Rick folded his arms across his chest, avoiding the stares of the two men as he stepped back toward the reception desk. "Daryl's here to relieve me," he said. "Not sure why Abe is here…"

"Hey, Michonne," Daryl said, giving no indication as to his thoughts on what he was seeing.

"Hey, Dixon. What's the situation out there?"

"Roads are still a mess. Power's out this side a town. Probably good down your way, though."

…

Michonne could see Rick edging his way out of the conversation, a slight pink hue traveling up his neck and settling on his cheeks. This was her chance, she thought. She took a deep breath and crossed the room to where he stood, slipping her hand casually into his, while the other two men watched with wide eyes.

"Maybe you can drive me home," she said, turning toward Rick and looking up with a confident smile. "If I still have power, you can shower there, stick around for awhile."

Rick's lips parted in surprise before turning upwards into a large grin. "Sure," he said. "Let me grab my stuff." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then took off down the hallway that she had just come from.

Abe and Daryl continued staring at her after Rick disappeared, and she set her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes in their direction. "Listen up," she said. "This is none of your business." She gestured to herself and the direction Rick had gone. "But, it's also not a secret. So tell whoever you want, just make sure you get the details right. We're not just messing around, and it's not just a fling. Got it?"

Both men nodded, silently, looking as though they'd just been ordered to the principal's office.

"Good. I'll see you guys around." She walked behind the counter again, gathering her personal items and finishing the job Rick had started, putting the desk back together. When he reappeared with his coat and gym bag over his shoulder, she met him at the door, lacing their fingers again. It wasn't easy looking confident wearing a man's clothes and a pair of black pumps, but she did her best, following him to the main exit.

"You ready?" he asked, smiling at her.

"Ready."

Rick nodded, pushing the door open and calling over his shoulder to his friends. "See you boys later. Don't call…"


	4. Chapter 4 -epilogue

**A/N** It's been 84 Years! I miss you guys. I don't know why this little epilogue popped into my head, but here it is. I miss Richonne :(

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"And what did you see when you approached the building, Deputy Grimes?"

Michonne paced in front of the stand, trying not to look directly at her witness. _Her_ witness. This was the easy part and yet…

"I saw the defendant climbing out of the window with a big bag that was later determined to be full of electronics from the back storage room."

"And was there anyone else in the building?"

"No, Ma'am."

Michonne slid a glance in his direction, spying a cocky half-smile. She cleared her throat. "And you recognized the defendant from the security footage of the other break ins?"

"That's right."

"And how could you be sure it was the same man?"

"My girlfriend tells me I have an eye for detail."

Okay, she was going to kill him. This particular judge happened to be in the dark about their relationship, she thought, but that was pure luck. He really needed to stop.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor," Michonne said, turning away from Rick and taking a seat at her table.

"Thank you, Ms. Anthony. We will break for a short recess and resume with the state's next witness after lunch." Judge King banged his gavel, and Michonne scooped up her files and bottled water and hurried out of the courtroom, refusing to look back at Rick.

When she reached the elevator to her office, her cell phone was already buzzing in her hand.

 **Rick: You gonna eat with me?**

She tried to maintain her scowl, but even via text he was annoyingly charming. She typed back.

 **Michonne: I shouldn't, but fine. I'll meet you in the parking lot.**

Pivoting, she moved away from the elevator and toward the side door of the courthouse that led to the shared municipal lot. Rick was standing outside of his cruiser, leaning on the hood with his arms crossed and a smile on his face that she had half a mind to wipe off.

"That was risky," she said, passing him and climbing into the passenger side.

"Come on. This is a slam dunk. Might as well have a little fun."

"You don't know that and it's on you if this slam dunk ends in a mistrial because you couldn't keep that pretty mouth shut and stop flirting."

"You liked my pretty mouth last night."

Rick climbed in behind the wheel and reached for the back of her neck. That mouth was on hers before she could say anything else. Predictably, she forgot all about being angry at him. When he pulled away, she was grinning.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked when he started the engine.

"You feel like Chinese?"

"We had Chinese two nights ago for dinner."

"Sandwiches?"

"Okay."

Rick pulled into a small deli a few blocks away from the courthouse. He got out and opened the cruiser door for Michonne.

"Hello, Deputy," the man behind the cash register said. "Ms. Anthony."

"Afternoon, Glenn." Rick took out his card and set it on the counter. "I'm gonna hit the head. You know my order." He tapped her on the butt and strode away.

Annnnd she was back to killing him.

She glanced over her shoulder at the other patrons in the restaurant, hoping no one had seen him do that. Of course, sitting at the booth in the corner was the receptionist from the Sheriff's Department. A sudden flash of memory hit her—Rick shoving her skirt up her thighs and hoisting her onto the front desk. She never did send Jessie flowers for what they'd done to her workspace. And she never seemed to find out. Now though, she was looking at her like the cat that ate the canary, so yeah, she was back to killing him.

She ordered her turkey sandwich and Rick's double steak bomb, and took a seat at a table as far away from the receptionist as she could. Rick came back moments later and planted a kiss on her cheek before she'd even seen him approach.

Their relationship was out in the open now, given her parting speech to his partner after he'd come to rescue them the morning after the snow storm. She told them to tell whomever they wanted and they'd done just that, but she was still getting used to the looks.

"You're doing that thing again," Rick said, unwrapping his sandwich.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you case the joint whenever we go somewhere together during the day. I thought we were past this?"

He dropped her gaze and she could tell the body language she was exhibiting was hurting his feelings. "Did Jessie ever ask about her desk?"

"Nah. I straightened it all up before she got in the next day."

"Maybe we just need to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" Now he was chuckling and she kicked him under the table.

"Yes. Like don't slap my ass when you're in uniform and I'm dressed for court."

He blushed. "Okay. That's fair."

"And no sly comments on the witness stand."

He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed before replying. "No fun, but also fair. What else?"

Michonne thought for a moment, but nothing else came to mind. "I reserve the right to update the rules as new events dictate."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And don't call me Ma'am."

"I'm pretty sure I should when we're in court."

"Fine. But outside of court, knock it off."

Rick laughed and glanced at her untouched food, reminding her their lunch had to be a short one.

…

"The jury finds the defendant guilty on all counts."

The foreman read the verdict and Michonne stifled an enthusiastic "yes" under a pretend cough and pumped her fist under her desk. After shaking hands with the other attorneys and thanking a few of her witnesses, she gathered her things and made her way to her office, dialing Rick on the way.

He picked up after one ring. "Deputy Grimes."

"It's me."

"Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn't even look at the caller ID."

"I just wanted to tell you we won! Guilty on all counts. That jerk is going away for five to seven."

"That's great, babe. Congratulations. I knew you had it."

Michonne beamed to herself, alone in the elevator. "Well, like you said, it was a slam dunk. But I'm still happy."

"It might have been, but only because you're the best A.D.A. in town."

"You're biased."

"Will you let me compliment you?" he groaned.

Michonne laughed. "You're right. I'm the best."

"So celebrate with me tonight. I'm off in an hour. Come down to the bar and have a drink. I promise not to slap your ass."

"Just promise me you won't do it at the bar. I'm not ruling it out for the rest of the night."

"All the more incentive. I know all our co-workers will be there so we can play it however you want."

"Okay. I'll meet you there in an hour."

She hung up with Rick and went to her office, shrugging off her blazer as soon as she shut the door. She kept jeans in a bag in her closet for impromptu invites like this, and she changed quickly, unbuttoning the blouse she'd been wearing until it looked after hours appropriate. She fluffed her hair and reapplied some lip gloss, then slid her black stilettos back on. It wasn't a flats kind of night.

When she walked into the bar down the street from the courthouse, Rick was already there. He was still in his uniform and maybe it was just the celebratory mood, but her stomach fluttered.

"Hey," he said, flagging her over to the bar. He slung an arm around her shoulder but noticeably kept his lips to himself. She pouted a little, before admonishing herself. She was the one who gave him that idea, but they were with Dixon and Abe and she'd already told them exactly where she and Rick stood. In fact, there was no one in that bar that she gave a damn saw her kiss Rick. She said hello to his friends then turned to him, snuggling against his chest.

He finally kissed the top of her head, but it was way too chaste for her liking.

"Congratulations again," he said, grinning.

"Thanks."

"You want a drink?"

"Of course."

Rick ordered them each a cocktail, then pulled out a stool for her to sit on. He took the spot behind her, setting his arm on the back of her chair instead of her shoulder. She pouted again.

"Is there a reason you're not touching me? I was expecting a bigger celebration."

Rick shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "'Chonne, I swear to God you are the most infuriating woman I have ever met."

"Excuse me?"

"At lunch you were giving me ground rules, now you're asking me why I'm not touching you."

"Well excuse me if I think the way we act in court should be different than the way we act in a bar full of cops."

"See now there's another rule. Can you print them out or something? Make index cards?"

"You're a cop! You're supposed to like rules."

"I like order. There is no order here. It's whatever you feel at the moment. You're a lawyer, aren't you supposed to like precedent?"

"Jesus, they're at it again." Michonne turned to see Abe Ford behind her, snickering into a pint of beer. "I thought when you two started screwing around, we wouldn't have to listen to this anymore."

"We're not screwing around!" They both shouted at him in unison and then looked at each other. Michonne bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing and Rick's scowl turned into something else that she liked much better. Suddenly, he spun her stool to face him and cupped her face. He kissed her hard and she remembered why she liked fighting with him so much.

"Let's go," he said. "We're moving this celebration to my place where I make the rules."

Michonne took another sip of her drink then hopped down from the stool. She slid her hand into his as Rick tossed a couple of bills onto the bar.

Abe shook his head and cackled.

"And it's still none of your business," she said, poking him in the chest before following after Rick.


End file.
